


Advanced Manipulation and Mindfulness Techniques

by PepperF



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: App Development & Condiments, F/M, episode insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fours all have this look: alert, cunning, and ravenous. It may be hell at the bottom and heaven at the top, but one level down the pressure is enough to forge diamonds. But Annie thrives under pressure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advanced Manipulation and Mindfulness Techniques

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to Bethany for the reassurance that this did work, and for making sure that was true! :)

Fours all have this look: alert, cunning, and ravenous. It may be hell at the bottom and heaven at the top, but one level down the pressure is enough to forge diamonds. They've left behind the no-hope Ones and Twos, and surpassed the might-have-been Threes, and now all that's left are the survivors, the fighters, with one eye on the glittering prize and the other on their fellow competitors.

But Annie thrives under pressure, and on a personal level, she always could read him a little too well—so, of course, once she's led him to the "robing room" to collect his new Five caftan, she swings around in a sweep of dark hair, and pins him with a look.

"What're you up to, Jeff?"

He and Britta discussed the options as far as Annie was concerned, and decided that she was too close to Shirley—they can't afford to trust her. He started this crusade in a mood of annoyance and mild competitiveness, but now he's come too far. He has to win. But he should've known she'd catch on too fast for his plan to have a chance to succeed. So he goes for his specialty: the misdirect. "Excuse me, _Four_?"

Eight days of conditioning stiffen her spine automatically. "Sorry, Five, I meant no disrespect—" She frowns, and shakes her head. "No. Wait. Oh!" She points a finger at him. "You stop that, Jeff!"

He straightens, drops his voice menacingly. "You dare take that tone with me, Four?"

She blinks. Hesitates. "D-don't try to—"

He advances, using his height to dominate her. "You may leave." He leaves it for a beat, while she stares up at him. "I don't need you. What are you still doing here? Why don't you go scurry after Shirley? Follow her orders, pick up whatever beenz she drops for you..."

"I, no, I—" Her eyes flutter and she drops her gaze, confused. He knows that she's caught between playing the game and calling his bluff. He needs to keep the momentum going, keep her off-balance. He can't let her stop and think.

Jeff moves forward again, taking the very ground she's standing on and forcing her back. "You know she keeps you in place so she has a lackey to push around, don't you? Or perhaps you don't care." He leans right into her space. "That's it, isn't it? You're too scared to make that final push. You'd never dare to fight your way to the top. Because you know what will happen if you try. You know you don't have what it takes. You'll never REALLY be popular." She flinches. He lowers his voice to a menacing whisper. "Don't you have chores, Four?"

Her eyes stay lowered, and she doesn't respond. Her face is pale, and there's a hectic touch of red on her cheeks. And abruptly, he sees what he's doing: exploiting his knowledge of her to go for her vulnerable spots as though she was a hostile witness. But she's not—she's his friend, and this is just a stupid game.

Annie draws in a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and meets his gaze. He tries to read the glint in her eyes. "Am I dismissed, Five?" Oh yeah, that's what it is: she's REALLY mad at him.

He grimaces, and runs a hand through his hair. "No," he decides. "Wait. I'm…" He searches for a way to make it right without apologizing and blowing his cover. He notices her retro-futuristic style costume, smooth fabric in a soft teal, a color he's always admired on her. "That's a nice outfit, Annie," he says, voice softer.

It turns out to be completely the wrong thing to say.

"Oh, now I'm _Annie_ , am I, _Five_?" she spits. "You can't just play the game whenever it's convenient, Jeff! And I'm not playing along with your little Logan's Run fantasy—yes, I HAVE seen it, hello, who do you think was responsible for the décor?" She steps closer so she can poke him with one pointy finger. "It's Britta, isn't it," she says. His eyes meet hers, and he tries to quell the panic he's feeling. "She's been much too quiet lately, and that's just not like her. It's almost like she's gone underground, getting all the pieces in place, waiting to strike… But she could never do that on her own. That's where you come in, isn't it? Are you a part of the plan, Jeff? Are you infiltrating the Fives?" He has to stop her, or eight days of campaigning and an awesome twenty-minute stand-up routine will have gone to waste. But she's on a roll, and he's hesitated too long. "You are! You're trying to bring down the system!"

He scoffs. "What? Annie, you're talking nonsense—this whole stupid Meow Meow Beenz thing is screwing with your mind, big time."

She gasps. "You—you—!" She's sputtering, almost too outraged to speak. "Jeffrey Tobias Winger, you are GASLIGHTING me! And I am going to expose you for the fraud you are! I'm going to tell Shirley!" She swings around to storm out, and he grabs her arm. He has to stop her somehow, desperate times and all that, so because it's totally justified and in no way an excuse—

—he kisses her.

And like both times before, he goes up in flames as fast as Greendale's non-firesafe furniture. Annie squeaks, and for a moment he thinks she's going to pull away and smack him, but instead she surges forward, and throws both arms around his neck. He's calling it: angry sex with her would be AWESOME.

He retains just enough situational awareness to turn and dip her towards the floor, so she's bent over backwards and has to cling to him for support—and once he's got her where he wants her, he lets go of all conscious thought and just lets himself feel.

God, she's so… delicious. He never wants to stop. He can't remember why they started kissing, and doesn't care—that nagging little thought at the back of his mind can go to hell. She threads a hand into his hair, and he actually whimpers. It feels like she's flipped the 'on' switch for every nerve ending, and now he's lit up like a Christmas tree. The sensation of her mouth moving against his, the warm, wet sliding of their tongues... he'd like this to never end, please and thank you.

He brings her upright again, to change the angle—oh, this is even better—and because he's fairly sure there's a wall somewhere in their vicinity that would do nicely for some leverage. She steps back with him because they're in sync as always—he really, REALLY wants to test how far that works—and hits something solid that would presumably be a wall if he cared to look, but he doesn't, because he's too busy catching her as she hops up and locks her legs around him and oh god _yes_. And then he's pressing her hard into the wall and running his hands under her excellently short skirt and wishing he was wearing pants because it's going to be a nightmare getting out of these fucking tights—

—and reality hits. It's a jolt, like missing a step in the dark, or taking a swig of hot coffee only to find that it's gone cold. He pulls away from her, gasping—and then dives straight back in, because he's selfish and because he can't do anything else. He seriously, seriously does not care about some stupid popularity contest right now, not when Annie is rolling her hips so perfectly and god it's so right but it's all wrong and they can't do this now, not like this, not on a basis of lies and manipulation. He needs to get his head back in the game, if he wants any chance of walking away with their friendship intact. So he slows down, kissing her long and deliberately, and pinning her back against the wall so she can't move. Because if she keeps doing that, he might just lose his mind, along with the ragged remnants of his morals.

_This is a deliberate seduction_ , he tells himself. _You are seducing this woman. But only this far. She can forgive you this much. Remember the election._

They both know how insanely competitive they get, and they don't hold grudges because that's just how they play. So he can push it this far and still claim it was just for the game. This far, and no more.

He runs kisses down to the corner of her jaw. Annie tilts her head back against the wall with a high-pitched sigh, and he kisses a trail down her neck, and just stays there for a while, until he realizes he's losing focus again and _friends friends friends they need to be friends after this_. So he trails back up again, away from the dangerous temptation of her pale shoulders, fixes his hands around her hips, and dots kisses across her flushed cheeks. He knows he's never going to forget the image of her right now: eyes closed, head tilted dizzily back against the wall, lips parted and reddened, breath coming hard and fast.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, allowing himself one last moment. Then he gets back into the role, and rubs his nose along hers, making her shiver deliciously. "And you're so much more than a Four to me," he sighs against her lips. "I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" she murmurs.

He moves back fractionally and gazes down into her eyes, which open slowly, dreamily. "I'm truly sorry." he says, with soft sincerity. And then he turns and shoves her into the closet. She stumbles, gasping, and trips over a pile of Five kaftans, getting tangled in a mop and bucket. "But Shirley is going DOWN." He closes the door just as she rebounds to her feet, and quickly wedges the handle with a chair. She's yelling his name. He cups his hands around his mouth and presses close to the door. "I'll let you out as soon as I've brought down the system!"

There's a scream and a loud thump—much like the sound a scrub brush might make if it were flung violently against a door—as he grabs his white robe and hurries away. He hasn’t been home in eight days, Annie probably hates him, and he's wearing blue tights. This had SO better be worth it.


End file.
